Sunset al Fresco

Just because that’s the filter name; I was fully dressed and had just been outside for two hours, getting some weeding and bulb-planting done….

The day had been fairly grey, so I hadn’t expected much from the last rays of the sun.  As the sky got progressively darker, I opted to go inside and thaw out my fingers by the fireplace.  But shortly thereafter I noticed there was an interesting orange glow in the west, which reminded me strongly of the orange wash used in a painting from Word’s family.  So I got up and went to the kitchen for a better look.

Then I grabbed the camera and went outside again!

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Neither borrowed nor blue

There all kinds of customs that I never thought I’d be heir to. Oh, say, getting to use the word “fiancé”. 

We never expected to have a legal marriage or formal wedding ceremony, nor any of the registry business…and what would you put in a dyke trousseau, anyway?  A long-standing joke was that our housewarming/bridal gifts were all from Saturn [in the form of a hefty Target gift card that came with one of my vehicle purchases]. 

But as we set the Thanksgiving table for our family guests this year, there were plenty of formal items a woman might have expected to get as wedding presents: gold-rimmed china from my great grandmother [she ordered it piece by piece by subscription], silver from my great aunt [the untarnished, rarely used mate to the set my grandmother, her sister, used on a daily basis], serving dishes from both families, flatware from one apartment, carving knives from Word’s grandparents….

Wine [recommended by Purlewe and ElusiveS from their trip to France] gets poured into a motley set of glasses while Word and I sip gin and tonics from my grandfather’s engraved Old Fashioned glasses.  We eat, laugh, and discuss where the food came from, and the fun of deciding which recipes to prepare. 

Ordinary.  Wonderful.

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On my journey home

The problem really is the return trip. In the morning, just get to the station, get the ticket; on you go.

The ride winds through the kind of country that used to be more common here — woods and gardens and small factories that once made whiskey and rye — I imagine some craft brewer will take up residence again someday.

The ride is steady enough for longhand writing and even some sketching — I’ve been on other commuting trains that rocked too much or bumped too often for my handwriting to stay legible — so I get a view _and_ potential dedicated writing time. Kind of awesome…

…until you have to figure out how to get those last 6 miles back from the train station in the absence of the car that dropped you off in the morning.

It’s a bit of a hike, and then you’d best pick the correct bus, lest you get a tour of neighborhoods that… Well it’s not that they’re totally dire. But the detours from where you want to be are constantly emphasized by the on-board announcements of transfer points for buses that could get you back home, if only you had thought to buy a transfer, or if only you were willing to stand on that unlit and somewhat dicey-looking corner to see when that other bus you’d meant to take originally is likely to show up.

The neighborhood tour wasn’t all that bad, and I knew where I was going to end up – just a few blocks from home in a very well-lit and well traveled area.  So, okay.  Maybe I can do this more often.

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Infernal and sublime

For the first category, behold the horror of “Monster Balls”, which is apparently what you call these rounded confections of assorted ghoulishly-themed breakfast cereals that are welded together with butter, melted marshmallows and sugar.

For the sublime, try this pear and almond tart, or the chocolatey delight hiding behind it….

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